"Oh, nothing," came the reply. "Only I was so silly as to place the wrong end of my cigarette in my mouth and burnt my lips. What's tuberose?"
Lawrence gave the necessary information. He was a little surprised to hear that his hostess had never heard of the tuberose. Nor, fond of flowers as she seemed, did she appear in the least interested.
"That child's noise makes my head ache," she said.
Lawrence stepped into the garden, Mamie welcomed him eagerly. No books of hers were half so popular as the novelist's impromptu stories.
"Tell me a tale," she demanded, imperiously.
Lawrence complied with resignation. It was all about a beautiful bad woman who guarded a precious treasure locked away in a box covered with paintings of exquisite flowers. Mamie clapped her hands with delight.
"Like mother's Antoinette cabinet in the drawing-room," she said.
"That's it," Lawrence said gravely, but with a glance at Hetty that caused her to flush a little. "And the key is like this one. We'll give it to Hetty, and some time when the wicked woman is out of the way she may get the tiny little phial that is in the cabinet so that we can do all kinds of wonderful things with it."
"Perhaps we could get it now." Hetty smiled.
Mamie clapped her hands again. A significant look passed between the two conspirators. A small key changed hands. Before the story proper was finished Countess Lalage came down the steps into the garden. Admiration was necessary to her, and the idea of a man's preferring Mamie's conversation to hers was absurd.